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We walk side by side over the stone bridge
like a couple of spies passing secrets.
It can become tiresome, all this point, counterpoint.

She speaks a throaty, lightly accented English.
Thunderstorms, a chandelier, Blythe Danner, the ocean –
a collection of words that might mean something.

We linger in front of a Renaissance statue of Jesus
cradling a lamb. The lamb looks a little uncomfortable.
Then there it is, a beautiful, polluted sunset.

Painted by Sheet Lightning

I felt as if saints in angry red robes
were clamoring inside my head.
Who invented disco? I began to ask,
obviously in the wrong language.
The next day brought the person
I want to be (or at least be seen as)
& the other person I keep on being.
Nod if you understand when I say
the rider guides the horse, though only
in the direction the horse wants to go.

The Middle of Nowhere

I raised up on my toes
to get a better look and saw
that I was 62, almost 63.
Stupid shits were everywhere.
The 911 operator suggested
calling back if it happened again.
There were other bad omens,
all the things that make me, me,
the sense of having quotation marks
around them. Night flooded in.
I was amazed that there was
such a lot blood for such a little cut.

Howie Good's latest book of poetry is The Complete Absence of Twilight (2014) from MadHat Press. He has several poetry books forthcoming, including Fugitive Pieces (Right Hand Press) and Buddha & Co (Plain Wrap Press).